I'm Fine
by FanFictionette
Summary: Sherlock refuses to admit that he's feeling ill, but Molly insists on taking care of him anyway. Just a fluffy Sherlolly oneshot.


**A/N:**** It's another Sherlolly fic! These two are just so cute! Anyway, enjoy :)**

**Disclaimer:**** I don't own Sherlock, if I did, I wouldn't be here writing fanfics...**

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_I'm fine._

She could see that he wasn't. He may not have, but she had noticed his condition slowly deteriorating over the course of the past few days. Yes, every time Sherlock Holmes entered the morgue, Molly Hooper noticed that he looked worse. With each passing day, he grew paler, thinner and more sleep-deprived.

True, she didn't know exactly _what_ was wrong, but she was certain of one thing: Sherlock was absolutely not fine.

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The day had started out like any other; Molly had been shuffling through some papers on her desk when Sherlock breezed into the lab, looking more than a bit worse for wear. His normally bright, energetic ice-blue eyes were dull and glassy, somewhat bloodshot; a clear indicator that he wasn't feeling well and that it had been days since he last slept.

"Good morning, Molly" His usual deep, rich baritone voice was hoarse and raspy, but Molly made no comment, smiling pleasantly at him. She had known the man for long enough to conclude that she would just need to wait for him to wear himself out.

And so, their day continued on in relative silence, with Sherlock occasionally asking for access to body parts. Other than that, they kept to themselves, he sat hunched over his microscope and she sorted through records at her desk.

Another hour passed before Molly realized that it wasn't going to be as simple as waiting him out. She took a deep breath,

"Iknowyou'renotokay." She mumbled, staring at the ground.

"What?" he asked, looking up from his microscope and facing her.

"I said," she paused to find her courage, "I know you're not okay."

"I'm fine." He insisted, though his words would have been much more convincing if he hadn't punctuated them with a rather violent fit of coughing.

Molly hated watching Sherlock abuse himself like this.

"No. You're not." She stated simply, trying to make her usually quiet voice sound somewhat assertive or commanding.

"I'm-" he began, starting to get annoyed.

"Don't. Even." She cut him off forcefully, striding across the lab to where he sat

Sherlock rose to meet her.

"Don't make me say it again. I. Am. Fine!" he spat, towering over her in a rather intimidating way.

Molly shrank away from the tall detective and scurried back to her desk

Yet another hour passed in silence before she found the courage to speak again.

"Sherlock," she squeaked, "please, just let me help you." She crossed the lab to stand beside him.

Sherlock turned away from the microscope and faced her, sighing as if to say 'Alright…'

Slowly, Molly reached forward with trembling fingers and tentatively laid a hand on the detective's forehead; she drew her hand back instantly when she came into contact with is feverish skin.

"God Sherlock, you're burning up! How did you get John to even let you leave the flat like this?!" she exclaimed, brow creased in worry.

"John's in Dublin." Sherlock breathed as he leaned forward to put his head in his hands.

"And Mrs. Hudson didn't catch you?'"

"She's visiting her sister…"

"Alright, get up. I'm taking you home." Molly said as she grabbed onto Sherlock's shirtsleeve, beginning to feel oddly responsible for the ailing detective.

"Wha- Molly, no! I'm perfectly capable of continuing my experiments!" he protested, trying to pull away from the petite pathologist dragging him towards the door.

"No you're not." She stated quickly, continuing to lead him towards the exit. She found his lack of strength rather frightening. Normally, he would have been able to pull away.

Sherlock eventually gave in to Molly's wishes and allowed himself to be lead out of the hospital to Molly's car.

They endured the short ride to 221B Baker Street in silence, the tall detective slumped lazily in the passenger seat of her car.

Upon reaching his flat, they slowly made their way inside and up the stairs, Sherlock leaning heavily on the redheaded pathologist.

Once inside, Molly shoved him into his room and instructed him to change into his pajamas. Once he had done this, she made him get in bed and helped him to get comfortable. Though he would never admit it, Sherlock was exhausted and was rather happy that Molly had forced him away from his work.

"I'll just be in the other room if you need me. Try and get some rest." She said quietly as she exited his room and pulled the door shut behind her.

Molly had been in the process of tidying up the flat a bit when she caught the sound of moaning coming from Sherlock's room.

She quickly made her way over to his bedroom and opened the door just a crack. Sherlock was tangled up in his sheets, sleeping fitfully; his face flushed bright red with fever. She tiptoed across his room to stand by his bedside and laid a gentle hand on his forehead, taking note that his skin felt distinctly warmer than it had earlier. She left momentarily to search for some paracetamol and get a glass of water.

Upon returning, she gently shook him awake and helped him to sit up. She wordlessly handed him the pills and water and he took them quickly.

"How're you feeling?" she asked at last.

"I've had better days." He admitted, his voice sounding even rougher than before.

"Gosh, you sound awful, d'you want some tea?" Molly asked, wringing her hands awkwardly.

"Tea… Would be lovely, actually."

She strode quickly out of his room to the kitchen, set the kettle to boil and began to search the cabinets for a clean mug.

As she prepared his tea, she reflected on how _different _Sherlock was acting; he seemed so vulnerable and helpless and Molly really didn't like the feeling it gave her. She did, however, find an odd satisfaction in knowing that she was still on his list of people to turn to, especially after The Fall (even if she only ranked third).

It had been so scary while he was gone. She had worried about him all the time (she still did) and was always afraid that one of Moriarty's men was just waiting for the right opportunity to finish the job. She had been overjoyed when he returned, hoping that something might have shifted between them.

And something had.

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**A/N:**** Reviews are much appreciated...**


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